


Remind Me

by jencsi



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22185493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencsi/pseuds/jencsi
Summary: "You remind me of something, something that I used to feel myself, something that I used to feel like a heartbeat racing, like a new beginning, you remind me of something else, something that I used to feel, something like what I've been missing."
Relationships: Julie "Finn" Finlay/Nick Stokes
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	Remind Me

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the events in "Under My Skin"

“Wait for backup,” she warns him as they watch the computer screen blinking the possible location of a suspect and the poor victim he was holding hostage off a neighborhood on Harvard Drive. 

“I will,” he promises, making a beeline for the door of the video lab, reaching back with one arm as a hasty form of reassurance and silent warning for her to stay. 

She obeys, knowing there is still work to be done. Nick and whichever officers are close by will get the call and do a sweep of the house. If they find this guy and the innocent girl he’s holding, they will need to process the place. She snaps a picture of the computer screen with her phone, memorizing the location. Her kit is stocked and ready to go so she heads out, asking one of the officers to drive her behind Nick and whomever he is paired with. 

“Stokes didn’t ride with anyone,” the officer confirms to her horror “we didn’t get a call, looks like he flew solo on this one.” 

“Take me here,” she demands, showing him the street location on her phone. 

The officer obeys, knowing he will face her wrath if he doesn’t. He makes the call for backup from the police cruiser as they speed off to the seemingly quiet, unsuspecting neighborhood. She scans the road for his SUV, frantic, eyes darting wildly around every street. Why would he do this? She told him to wait. Why didn’t he listen? Just because the girl’s father was someone he knew didn’t mean he had to go rouge to rescue her. He was putting his life in danger for what? When the police car turns the corner onto a section of the upper-class neighborhood, she spots Nick’s SUV in front of a house. 

“There!” she cries, pointing to the SUV and the officer stops. 

As she leaps out of the passenger seat, slamming the door in her frenzied state, a gunshot reverberates across the afternoon air, cutting the silence like a knife. She gasps, sucking in air, making her choke, fearful of what has happened. Foolishly, she makes a sprint towards the front door of the house, the officer rushing to follow her as he calls for more units, demanding their location. As Julie reaches the front door, it swings wide open and Nick is there, cradling the missing girl they had been looking for, helping her walk down the steps and into the safe, secure custody of the officer as they meet him in the street. 

“Clark is in there,” Nick says breathlessly to the officer, looking back towards the house, “wounded but he should be fine.”

The officer makes a quick call on his radio before guiding Cara away to the safety of his car to wait for an ambulance to be checked out. 

Finn stands there, staring at Nick, shocked by the rapid fire of events. 

“She’s okay,” Nick said in a relieved tone to Finn who stares at him, catching her breath. 

“Why did you do that?” she demands of him with a tear-filled gaze

“We found the house,” Nick said, “Cara needed help, I had to stop him.”

“You were supposed to wait for backup!” Finn yells at him, stepping forward, putting both her hands on his chest and shoving him, hard. The tears in her eyes burn as she unleashes this fury, her chest aching with worry that had not settled yet. 

“Ow, hey what’s the big deal?” Nick protests her rage and subsequent shoving “Cara’s safe, the guy is going to jail, her father can breathe again, lord knows the guy’s been through hell not knowing.”

“What about me huh?” Finn asks, wiping her tears on her arm clumsily, “when can I breathe again?”

Nick stares at her, not understanding what she means. 

“Come on,” he tries to sympathize with her “you know how this stuff goes, it’s case rush, we call get caught up in it.” 

“Haven’t you done that enough?” she cries “running off rogue, going solo, getting hurt, why do you keep putting yourself in danger?”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, “I haven’t done a damn thing.”

“Your stalker, that psycho who kidnapped you, that freaking meat guy who shot you, those bombs, McKeen, the doomsday guy in the bunker with the rifle,” she lists all the people who have hurt him or attempted to “and now this?” You, you’re scaring me.” 

She hits her chest with her fist now, needing to feel some physical pain to compensate the aching in her heart. She wants to hit something, throw something, push him again. But at the same time, she wants to grab him and never let go. She wants to protect him, shield him from these horrors. How can she show him she cares when he keeps running away every time she tries? 

He’s stunned by her words. He’s scaring her. She’s fearless, a rebel, a spitfire herself. Scared? That’s not like her. 

“What about Seattle?” he fights back “Cooley, the wine glass? The chainsaw? This Gig Harbor guy? And Crenshaw? The warehouse? Why in the hell would you let him beat you up like that, just to tail him for a lead you didn’t even know would turn into anything? You never listen and you expect me to? Do you hear yourself right now? 

“It’s not the same!” she howls at him, but deep in her heart she knows it is “I told you to wait, back in the lab, I asked you, no one else, me, but you didn’t listen, you don’t care how I feel, and if you don’t care enough to listen when I’m begging you not to go, then what good am I to you?” 

Her rant sounded selfish, but she didn’t mean it that way. She wanted to be the reason he slowed down, gave second thought to his reckless behavior, made conscious choices before he acted. Was her love not enough to make him reconsider all the times he put himself in danger or close to death? And if it wasn’t enough, what were they doing together? 

He watches her, dissolving into tears, crushed over his apparent rejection of her emotions and feelings. How could he be so stupid? She’s upset because she doesn’t want to lose him. For years and years, he flew solo because that was all he knew. Loving someone, forget about it when there’s a gun in your face. But now, she was part of his life, and she deserved to know what he was going to do. She cared, she worried, she loved. He was a damn fool. 

“You’re right,” he concludes, reaching out to touch her arm, but she recoils, not ready to accept his comforts just yet “I haven’t been thinking, especially about you, you deserve better than that and I’m sorry, c’mere.” 

He holds both arms out now. She hesitates, his bluff, he made her feel unwanted, like he didn’t need her, but he did. She bites the inside of her cheek, trying to stop any more tears from falling but it’s useless. She sways on the spot, her blood still boiling, anger still dominating her. But his stupid face all calm and collected is making her melt. They are both reckless fools, reckless damn fools. 

She takes two steps and closes the space between them, pummeling into his arms, her face burying into his chest, pressing her forehead hard against him. She’s burning up, shaking, but relieved. He secures her in his embrace, not carrying about anyone else who might be watching. Her sob stabs at his soul, but it’s just one sob, she’s saving the rest for later, he knows. She inhales, feeling her breath slowly returning to normal, taking in the familiar scent of his shirt, loving the feel of the soft fabric on her cheek. This is where she belongs. 

Later 

“We’re you scared?” she whispers, daringly to him in the semi darkness of their room, the flat sheet and cotton blanket pulled up to her chest as her heart pounds against it furiously. 

They have been awake for an hour, both struggling to let sleep overtake them. She had rolled over and touched his arm gently, lifting it so that it was around her as she wriggled her way closer to him. She knew he was awake as she whispered sadly, pouting, “I can’t sleep” and since then, they lay cuddled close together, wrapped in blankets, not bothering to put on the TV or try and read to fall back asleep. She just wanted to be near him, be still with him, and that’s how they started talking. 

“Every time,” he confirms to her his fears of the past, of past pain and agony, of having a gun pointed at him. 

“We’re you scared?” he asks her now as she nestles her way closer to him, her body pressed against his. 

Her head finds his chest and she rubs her cheek against the fabric of his shirt before she answers with a soft “yes” thinking back to all the times she stared down the barrel of a gun, felt the familiar ache of her head hitting something or a fist coming in contact with her face. 

“What was the worst?” she asks now, letting her finger graze over the faded Cowboys logo, tracing the letters on his shirt, one he sleeps in all the time but rotates with the Seattle one she got him as a joke one Christmas but he ended up loving it and wearing it regularly. 

“The box,” he says without hesitation and she feels him shudder “what was the worst for you?”

“Him” she whispers unable to say the name of the one she had been hunting for so long, who alluded capture, who hurt so many people. 

“Do you think it made you stronger?” she asked, reaching up to touch his face, letting her finger trace over his cheek gentle, delicate, soft. 

“Sometimes,” he admitted, letting his fingers brush against her side gently, thumb caressing a tender spot that makes her squirm “not always, do you think it made you stronger?”

She shrugs, thinking of the pain she endured from Crenshaw, from Cooley, all in the name of justice and closure for the victims. 

“Some days sure,” she confesses, proud of all the pain, the bruises, the fight she put up to bring justice to those hurting, “other times, not so much.”

Feeling vulnerable, she snuggles, hard, into his side, her face burying into the crook of his neck where it’s warm, soft and safe. He adores her softness, melting from her affections. She’s heaven sent

He understands that conflict between feeling good then crashing and burning. He’s lost in thought, only able to focus on his thumb moving in a repetitive circle on her side. The contact soothes them both. 

“We’re you scared today?” she asks now, thinking of how he negotiated well with the suspect and only shot to injure him. 

“Will you be upset if I say no?” he asks her, pressing his forehead against hers, craving her warmth. 

She shakes her head, trusting him, knowing his instincts are solid after years of working this job. She may have slightly overreacted today in her worry of him. In reality, he knew what to do, she just didn’t want to feel like he was throwing it all away, risking for strangers and victims and not for her. 

“I just wanted to save her,” he concludes in a whisper against her forehead, “no one deserves that kind of pain, not Cara or her father.”

She nods, understanding that their drive and discipline to get justice was boundless. 

“I love you,” she whispers, picking up his hand, kissing his fingers, guiding his hand to her cheek and nuzzling against it softly. 

“I love you too,” he confesses, his soft tone making it sound like it’s the first time he’s ever told her. He has a way with her soul that makes her feel like this is all brand new every time they are like this. 

Their life was not filled with empty “I love you’s” each one meant more than the next because of how risky their job was. It was “be safe” “call me” “wait for back up” even if they both didn’t listen. Even if they both had to get hurt sometimes to save someone else or bring justice to a grieving family. There was no one she would rather fight fiercely with than him.


End file.
